by S. Burke
“And why reveal the information now, Doc? Why now?”
“Have you gone to the Director with this?”
“No. And you won’t either. Not till we’ve clarified who accessed the internal files. Nigel, I am asking you, man to man, trust me and my people on this. I’ve included you, and Trish, and that’s it. You, me and Trish will work this. The rest of the team will only be told on a need to know basis. I don’t know who I can trust, and that doesn’t sit well. I know these men far better than I know you, but I need your input as a shrink. No offence intended, I think I can trust you, but Craig stays out of this. For now.”
“You can’t send him in undercover not being made aware of new information, especially something that stinks as bad as this does of a possible cover-up, Mike.”
“I don’t like this anymore than you do, Cantrell. But as long as I’m head of this team that’s the way it stands. I’ll have you removed from the task force if you can’t agree to that.”
“No, Mike. No. You won’t.”
“What the fuck did you say?”
“You heard me. Sit down. I have something to tell you, and you are not going to like it one little bit.”
“It had better be fuckin’ good, Cantrell, or you are out of here.”
“Listen up. I was placed in complete charge of this team the day they called me in. When Sheila was picked up. Shut up and listen!”
The big man stood and moved towards him.
“Don’t even think about it, Mike. Sit down, man. Listen to me, God damn it. I have told no one about this. I believe you are the one best to lead the team, or I did until fifteen minutes ago. Sit, Mike or I will pull rank on you so fucking fast it’ll make your head spin. Get another thing clear in that damned head of yours. If you ever approach me with intent of striking me you had better use deadly force, because I will not hesitate to do so. Do you understand me?”
“What, you? Yeah, okay. Yeah, I thought you were pretty damned fit for a shrink. Talk to me, cause right at this moment I am about to resign and walk the fuck outta here. I believe most of the team would follow.”
“You think I don’t know that, man? I have said nothing because the team is a cohesive unit. The changes that needed making have occurred; you are beginning to listen to your people more and allow them free input. I don’t want to change that. Me being in charge will be kept between us.”
“What about your childhood friend?”
“You already know that is not where we know each other from. Craig already knows. I trust him totally.”
“Why?”
“He saved my life, twice. At risk of his own. I owe him.”
“Where do you really know him from?”
“We were both SEALS, worked a few missions together.”
“SEALS!”
“Yeah.”
“That’s heavy-duty training.”
“It is that. Now, I believe you are the man to lead this team, Mike. I mean that. I am under orders to run things as I see fit. I see fit for you to keep doing what you are doing. This stays between you and me. Not even Trish is to be told. If you decide to stay, I will have you brief Craig before he goes into that lodge. Do we have an agreement? Or do I accept your resignation right now?”
Mike Matheson was clearly torn between the desire to rip the smaller man’s head off, and his own deep sense of duty.
Duty won. He stood. “You have my word, Cantrell. I don’t like this, understand that clearly, but you have my word.”
“Try and lose the attitude; you normally call me, Doc. Try and continue that. Oh, and, Mike?”
The bigger man was walking away, but turned back. ‘What now?”
“Thanks.”
Mike Matheson gave the man a long level look, shook his head and said, “Yeah.” Then kept on walking.
Nigel Cantrell took a deep calming breath and headed inside the camper-van
Craig poured him a drink. “This might be better than coffee, buddy. So did you kill him?” he asked calmly.
The doctor laughed and accepted the drink. “No. Not yet anyway.”
“Good. Cheers, buddy.” He raised his drink in a salute. “Just like the good ol’ days.”
Chapter 16
Sheila sat comfortably on the leather sofa; the Lodge’s newest guests were helping themselves from the well-stocked bar.
“So, my dear. I believe we are to have the pleasure of your company on Friday evening?” asked Malcolm.
“Yes, I am delighted, of course. I have a gown especially for the occasion. Who else is in our little gathering, Malcolm? Do you know?”
“Now, my dear, as you well know it’s my job to be aware of who is where. There will be your lovely self, the Governor of course, that newspaper owner- you know, the Australian fellow- and his wife. Myself and my dear wife, and … mm, oh yes, that movie director and another one, the hot shot lawyer Abe Levine and partner.”
“When did Mr Levine get included, Malcolm?”
“Last minute. I believe he recently did the Governor a small favour and is calling in the I O U. All very hush-hush. I believe he can be quite entertaining. And the director has a portfolio ready of funny stories about the Hollywood crowd. Present company accepted, of course.” Malcolm glanced across at the other two men in the room.
“No offence taken, Malcolm. I know you aren’t too fond of my Hollywood crowd, as you put it. Besides I’m an expatriate Aussie anyway, so I guess I don’t count.” The good-looking actor drank his scotch down and poured another.
“You are much too devastating to ever be discounted, my friend,” said Sheila.
“You do know of course that a ‘Sheila’ in my country is a slang expression for female,” he replied with a grin.
“Nice to see you got that right, at least.”
“Bitch.”
“Bastard!”
“Ah, it’s good to be back. Are the deer plentiful at the moment?”
“As always. You know I insist on it.”
“You have a direct line to the big boss, then?” The actor rolled his eyes and pointed up.
“No, darling. I have a direct line way further south.”
The men all laughed, although no one disputed her claim. She was a fascinating, bewitching woman. Yet no one would dare make a move on her. She didn’t invite that type of familiarity, and gave off an air of being quite capable of taking care of errant passes. Besides, rumour had it she was about to become the fiancé of New York Governor, Damon Henderson. If rumour could be believed.
“Your cabin will be ready shortly. You really are wicked arriving early this way. Let me see who your bunk buddies are this time.” She looked at the bookings. “I don’t know the names. Two millionaires, and another unknown. Oh, well, as long as the fees are paid I don’t care.”
“As long as they can shoot. And follow the rules.”
“Rules? What, pray tell, are the rules?”
“We have our own little set, for the cabin, my dear. Nothing that need concern you.”
“Don’t patronize me, Malcolm. I own the place; you’d do well to remember that.”
“The rules are, there are no rules. Forget this gentlemanly crap.” The actor spoke up. “That’s all it is, Sheila honey. We have no rules of any sort whatsoever. We are here to shoot and pretend we’re real men for a couple of weeks. That’s it.”
“Is that all? Such a relief. I have things that require my attention. Please continue to use the bar, and I’ll have cook bring in lunch for you all. I expect I’ll see you around the next few weeks. Have fun. Malcolm, I’ll see you and yours on Friday evening.”
She stood and left the room, knowing full well she had embarrassed Malcolm. He’d earned it, the pompous ass. Everyone bar his stupid wife knew he was gay.
She kept to her schedule and made the call at the appointed time.
It was answered. “Yes?”
“The explanation had better be that you are all either dead or dying,” she said coldly.
“We h
ad a little problem.”
“How little?”
“Someone found our target.”
“Explain!”
“I took care of it.”
“I said explain. Briefly. Now!”
“Local kid, exploring along the lake, he heard the target call out and investigated. We weren’t there. He got the target outside, and we caught him. We recovered the target.”
“And the kid?”
“Both executed. Location is clear.”
“It had better be. You were under direct orders not to leave our targets unguarded at any time. What was he doing without a gag on? Someone will need to explain this.”
Silence greeted the remark, and then the voice continued with a pleading edge. “One more thing. Matheson and the task force are in the location. We had about sixteen hours start on them.”
“That’s too fucking close. Leave target twenty. I will advise you further.”
“We are close.”
“I said leave it. I will get back to you. Disperse and await contact. Confirm!”
“Confirmed.”
Sheila hung up. “Fuck, fuck! Stupid fools!”
She made another call, no response. “Damn it to hell.” She put the cell phone back in its safe place.
FBI Task Force Mobile Headquarters
Tuesday Morning
Mike Matheson sat ashen faced and bleary eyed across the table from Nigel Cantrell and Craig Lombardi. He had yet to resolve his change of status to his own satisfaction. His training kicked in and he tried to present himself as well as he could, given that he had again not slept and had a hangover to boot.
“Mike, fill us both in, please, on what has been found in the files.”
Mike handed them both a copy of the updated report he and Trish had worked all night compiling. “It’s all in here. The original reports that were acted upon and the flagged information that has appeared since. This stuff bypassed the system; it was added to the files directly, not through channels, so it was never picked up. Trish went back in to all the files after the youngster Deakin Rowlings was murdered. She found a couple of anomalies that didn’t make sense on the last victim’s profile. Things that were not in the original file. So she started back-tracking, over all previous files and cross references. That’s when she found the passport details.”
“Jesus. Look at this shit, Nigel. These guys all travelled in Europe. A year is a long time away. Are we looking at sleepers here?” Trish asked.
“Damned good question,” said Mike.
Nigel said, “They all travelled. They left at different times from different locations, some went direct to London. Problem is, we have them entering Paris; then no travel documents until they returned to London and then home. Again different airlines, stopovers, arrival points and dates. They could have easily crossed borders without passport checks, if they knew how.”
“We’ll have Interpol checking everything they can,” he added. “Some of these dates go back over six years. That makes it before victim number one. It’s planned for us to find this information. We need to be sure we aren’t being played. But the only way to do that is to follow up all this. Let’s not lose track of the fact that we also have a suspect and what I had assumed to be a family team working here. The diversion is acute, but it may well be intended that way.”
“Are we talking assassinations here? Not murders committed by a serial killer?” Mike looked angry.
“It could go that way, Mike.”
“All these years, all the work and the stress my team has been under. You mean we’ve been played all this time? Fuck. I wanna kill somebody myself. Who the hell, and why? Why?”
“I don’t know, Mike. But I promise you this, we will find out. And when we do, the shit is gonna fly.” Nigel Cantrell understood just how bad the agent must feel, but he couldn’t afford to back off.
“When are you going in, Lombardi?” asked Mike.
“I’m due to arrive tomorrow afternoon. Let’s talk about that. I go in. I don’t make contact with anyone unless I have something urgent to report. Let’s understand that up front. I don’t report in. I don’t do scheduled meets. Nothing. If my cover is jeopardized, then you will have a way of notifying me. Unless that happens, I am to be left alone. Clear?”
“Mike, you clear with that?” Nigel prompted.
“What aren’t you telling me?
Nigel Cantrell smiled at Craig. “Told you he was good, Craig. Go ahead. Tell him.”
“Mike, I’m working this on two different levels. The woman you had in the cells, Sheila Harrington, looks set to be the new wife of Damon Henderson. I’m investigating her, on that level. As well as working the serial killer connection.”
“What the? The Governor? Jesus, does he know what we suspect?”
“No. That’s why I’m here. I have to be able to tell him it’s a mistake or hand her to him on a platter.”
“Shit. Is the man a total idiot?”
“Not always. Though he can be. The man is in love. That makes us all idiots at times.”
“A man in his position couldn’t risk being connected in any way with a serial murderer. It would kiss his career goodbye, and any aspirations he had to a higher office.” Mike spoke with derision.
“The man is utterly besotted, which makes him vulnerable. We can’t have someone in an office that high up vulnerable to blackmail,” Craig stated.
“Jesus.”
“My orders come from higher up than Jesus, my friend.”
Mike shook his head, trying to disentangle what he’d heard. This case had taken on an edge that he’d had no dealing with in the past. He cringed inwardly at the thought of what the undercover agent had implied. Just how far up the food chain did this thing go? And more importantly, what was being covered up? And why?
“One more question, and damn the pair of you if you even try to lie to me. Craig, are you CIA or one of mine?”
Lombardi looked over at Nigel, and then at Mike Matheson. “I’m employed by the same government that you are, just in a different area, Mike. That’s all you need to know.”
Mike looked relieved. “Okay, thought as much. Thanks for the honesty, Lombardi. It stays with me.”
“Good.”
“So we have two possible scenarios. Or is it three? One, Sheila Harrington has followers and these are serial killings as we first supposed, or two, she and the team are a hit team and are making these assassinations look like serial killings deliberately to put anyone off the scent. Three, if they are assassinations, who are these victims really? Who were they working for? How’s that for an accurate summation so far?” asked Mike.
Nigel Cantrell answered. “Accurate. There is also a possible fourth point at issue here. Sheila Harrington is posing as mentally ill, and doing a wonderful job of it. She is willing to take the fall if this thing goes belly up on them.” He turned to his friend. “Craig, is she one of your operatives?”
“No, I checked that. Thoroughly. She may be with another agency, possibly MI6 or …”
“Mossad?”
“Yeah, that’s being looked into.”
“Shit, what the hell is my team still doing on this case?” Mike asked.
“Because this could still be option one, Mike. Plus we need all the help we can get on this. You’re good, so are your team. We would be fools not to utilize that,” said Craig.
“Uh-huh. Okay, thanks for that. Lombardi, good luck tomorrow, man. I don’t envy you. Watch your ass. I still think she is one cold, psycho bitch.”
Chapter 17
Friday
The Black and White Ball
Sheila arrived at her hotel earlier than planned. She hadn’t spotted a tail and was confident at this point that her little band of watchers had been caught wanting, again.
The black gown hung on the doorframe and her accessories were laid out in readiness. She showered and used her favourite fragrant oils on her honey-toned skin. The dress was low cut, so she paid particular attentio
n to her cleavage, ensuring it had a faint pearl shimmer.
She had room service bring up a bottle of Moet and sat sipping on it as she took in the view from the balcony. Central Park shimmered in the setting sun, and the noise of traffic along Park Avenue was muted somewhat this high up.
The knock at the door surprised her. “Who is it?”
“I have a delivery for a Ms Harrington,” came a female voice.
“Of what?”
“Flowers, Ma’am.” The young voice sounded unsure.
“Read the card to me.”
“Ma’am?”
“I said read the card to me, please. I just climbed out of the tub, and I’m not exactly dressed to open the door.”
“Okay, um, if you’re sure. Perhaps I should leave these at reception for you instead.”
“Do that.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Sheila was agitated. Damn, that was a clumsy way of confirming she was in the room. Unless of course he had sent flowers; he should be the only one who knew she was in this hotel. She was slipping, she hadn’t spotted a tail. The flowers were an unusual thing and Sheila didn’t like things coming at her unexpectedly. She returned to the balcony and closed the sliding glass doors, then utilized another cell phone and punched in a number.
He answered. “Yes.”
“Did you send flowers?”
“No.”
“Well, somebody did, which means I have been located.”
“Get out of there. Call me again when you check in elsewhere. Use an assumed.”
“Understood.”
Sheila quickly gathered her things together and rang down to reception.
“This is Ms Harrington in 1101. Please ensure I am not disturbed, I have a migraine.”
“Yes, Ma’am, of course. Is there anything we can do to assist? Do you need a doctor?”
“No, but thank you. I have my medication. Please wake me at eight p.m.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Sheila hung up, dressed rapidly in jeans and a sweater, pulled her long dark hair up into a bun, and extracted the red wig from her luggage. The short style changed the shape of her face, and the brown contacts hid the colour of her eyes. She slipped a cast snugly on her left arm, took one last look at the room, packed her evening clothes and left. The bank of elevators to her right had no traffic, so she took a calming breath and pushed the button. The lift whooshed to a stop and a man in a grey suit exited. He noted the caste on her arm and assisted her into the lift with her luggage.